They were upon him in a quick little rush, thrusting their enormous heads into the grain scoop. Sometimes when they were not to be harnessed they were given a handful of grain, and Joe knew how to allay their suspicions. They began to lick the corn with wet tongues. Neither raised its head, for there was only a little grain and each had to eat as quickly as possible lest the other get more than a just share.
Joe worked his hand down to the rope in his belt, and when his fingers closed around it, he brought the grain scoop closer. The mules blew through their nostrils and followed. Then, seeing too late that they had fallen into a trap, both tried to wheel and pound away. Joe slipped the rope over the mare mule's head, took a half hitch around a fence post, and stepped out of reach when the mule slashed at him with her yellowed teeth.
Joe laughed. The mare mule was not less cunning and scheming than her teammate, but the horse had a pounding, hard gait that was difficult for a rider going only a short way and spine-shattering for a long ride. The mare had a gentle, rocking pace, and she was the faster of the two.
The mare pulled to the end of her rope, but not far enough to tighten it around her neck and choke herself, and she was looking fixedly at Joe when he came with the bridle. She stepped suddenly forward, slackening the rope, and scuttled sidewise to pin him between the fence and herself.
Joe laughed again, and brought the blunt end of his shoe hard into her soft belly. Her ears sagged reproachfully as she retreated and stood still. The mules always fought with their master, but it never did them any good because Joe remained master. She was docile enough as he slipped the bit into her mouth, strapped the bridle on, and led her through the gate.
The horse mule watched the whole procedure suspiciously. Then, as soon as the gate was closed and latched, and he knew that Joe wanted only the mare, he shattered the morning stillness with a far-carrying bray before trotting over to lick up the few grains of corn that had spilled on the ground.
Joe vaulted astride the mare and set himself for the lunge that he knew was coming now. He tried to make her keep her head up, but she got it down and bucked. Joe gripped her sides with his knees, and for a moment she pitched and twisted. Then she reared, trying to make him slide back over her tail, and when she did Joe shortened the rein so she couldn't get her head down again. She panted angrily, then obeyed the tug of the rein and started down the path toward Tenney's. Joe knew another moment of tormenting uncertainty.
He was a realist, and experience had taught him that nothing worth having came easily. Though he knew nothing about the west, he did know what wagon travel involved. At the best, it was not easy. Though he never doubted Emma's moral fiber, though he knew that once having decided to go she would spare herself nothing to make the trip possible and successful, was her physical strength equal to the hardships that they would almost certainly endure before they reached the land they wanted? Suppose baby Emma became desperately ill along the way and had only a wagon for shelter? Alfred, Carlyle and Joe were very young. Was Barbara equal to such a trip? Joe half turned the mule around, then turned her back and went on. He had taken upon himself the duty of digging out all possible information in advance. He had promised Emma to take care of her—and that meant he must prepare for every situation in which they were likely to find themselves. The sources of reliable information were few, but Seeley was one, and he meant to get to Seeley as early in the day as he humanly could.
The morning was lighter. But it was still too early for most people to be up and, save for Lard Head, who lay sleeping in front of the store, there was nobody around Tenney's Crossing. From the last house a little white dog ran out, yapped ineffectively at the mule, and scuttled back into the shadows when she lunged at him.
The mule broke into a fast canter and Joe let her run. Then, of her own accord, she slowed to an easy trot and walked on the upgrades. This was a wagon road, and sometimes wagons made the trip between Tenney's Crossing and Hammerstown when they were heavily loaded and in wet weather. The ruts on either side of the road were deep and uneven, and here and there they had been filled in with rocks. The bleached bones of an ox that had died on this road and been dragged aside were scattered about a grassy little dell.